Why I Fight for You
by MagicMan01
Summary: This is why I am who I am; this is why I fight for you. Rated T for some subject matter. Written in first-person. Oneshot.


**Well, this fic is certainly… different from everything else I've written so far. Being that it's in the first person and more of a general message of sorts than an actual story, I've never really done anything like this before. This idea kind of just came to me out of nowhere, so I apologize if it seems a little sporadic or random to you. When you're all through, please review with positive or negative feedback, favorite this story, or favorite/follow me if you really enjoyed this or my other work.**

**A/N: I don't really have an exact time period for this story, but the **_**relative**_** time would have to be somewhere in between 1977 (after the Keene Act in the novel) and 1985, when the main events of the novel/film take place.**

**-Disclaimer- I would **_**love**_** to own Watchmen, but currently, the only things I own from it is a copy of the graphic novel, the Ultimate Cut film version on DVD, some Rorschach cosplay stuff I bought to dress up in (since he's one of my favorite vigilante heroes, along with Batman and The Punisher), and, of course, this story. Sigh…**

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_**Why I Fight For You**_

My name is Rorschach. I used to go by a different name, but after a certain night in 1975, my former self died in the fires of innocence and immaturity, and thus Rorschach was born from the ashes. That certain night in a run-down area of Brooklyn, my eyes were truly opened to the pure apathy and sickness of this city. Her name was Blair Roche, a young six-year-old girl who was kidnapped, most likely raped, murdered, and crudely cremated in a coal furnace.

I did what I felt was just; I killed Gerald Grice and his two German shepherds who were gnawing on the leg of a young girl, the young girl who was murdered there. Killed dogs with a meat cleaver. Didn't directly kill Grice; killed himself, really. Gave him choice. Handcuffed him to his furnace, threw him hacksaw, doused room in kerosene, delivered his ultimatum, and lit match as I left. He chose not to take the offer and instead burned to death.

Don't know why he did it. Maybe he didn't want to face a court. Maybe he didn't want to cut off his hand. Maybe he was just a coward who deserved to die. This event served as the catalyst to make me who I am today. He and wanted multiple rapist Harvey Furniss were only two people I have ever killed.

Let police take all others alive. Used to be soft on criminals. Not since that night, though. Much harder now. More blood. More broken bones. More admitted to hospitals in critical conditions. Less compassion for those who disgust me. Maybe it is how I should have been from beginning.

I cannot save this city. It is like an incurable disease; the city of New York is the host, its scum are the parasites, and I am the medicine which only serves to prolong the inevitable. I eradicate the parasites on a nightly basis, filling up more empty spaces in city hospitals and prison systems. I stop the parasites from advancing to a later stage for only a short while before more take their places. I will not be able to keep this city safe for much longer; one day, I will be gone and ordinary people must be confronted with a choice to either do nothing and be overrun by the parasites which infect them further or take a stand against the unjust and become the vaccination. The battle rages on.

Sometimes, I ask myself this: why do I fight for you? Is it because I feel sorrow for you? Is it because I despise criminals? Is it because of, perhaps, some unknown deeper motive?

No. It is none of these things. It is this: I cannot be a bystander. I cannot bear to see an incident like that of the public rape and murder of Kitty Genovese ever again. I did not personally witness it, but seeing it on front page of newspaper was bad enough.

Why did no one stop him when they knew the young Italian girl's life was in danger? Why did some even insist on staying to watch the malicious events unfold before their emotionless eyes? I cannot answer that question. I cannot answer for the rapist or any of the witnesses, who are all equally just as guilty for their own actions; him for what he did and them for what they did not do.

I defend those who cannot defend themselves. I protect the average people who go on their nightly strolls in the wrong areas of town and happen to run into the local degenerates. Every mugger, thief, rapist, junkie, pimp, and murderer in this city knows my name and fears it. Good. I want them to.

Some nights, a simple stare will do. They see the temperature-sensitive latex mask I wear and run in fear of it. Other nights are more… active. By themselves or in groups, they all end up the same. They pull pistols, brass knuckles, lead pipes, switchblades, sawed-off shotguns, metal chains, and other assorted weaponry on me, but both weapons and owners fall to ground when I am finished with them.

If you see my face, remember it well. Remember it every time you go for a late night walk in poorly lit streets, through bad neighborhoods, and shady alleyways. This face will be watching you, whether your intentions are innocent or less than that. I will be looking out for you or looking _for _you. _That_ you can guarantee.

I am not the law. The law has strict rules and guidelines for enforcement. I do not. The police call me a vigilante, but I simply believe I am an ordinary citizen trying to evoke a system of justice upon New York City. You can believe whoever you want; it does not matter to me. I will continue doing what I have been doing every night since 1964.

This city, with all its pointless bloodshed and illegal fornication, it needs a hero. It needs someone to watch over it at night from the shadows when no one else will. I believe I fit all of those qualifications except for "hero." I am not a hero. I do not willingly reveal my face to the public and fight crime in broad daylight. No, the heroes handle the softer side of this city; I deal with its true face, its darker side.

In many ways, New York is like my face. Constantly changing. Adaptive to environment. Symbolic. It is like an unsolvable jigsaw puzzle, if there is such a thing; once you believe you have solved it, the puzzle changes all distinguishable physical features and becomes something different entirely. An enigma impossible to crack. One day, maybe this enigma will be solved. Probably not any time in the near future, but maybe someday.

I now leave you to do what you will in this city so ripe with sin. However, before I go, remember why I fight for you. Remember my words. All I ask is that you do not become the reason. Do not add to the crime of this city. I know many of you will not heed my warning and will instead fall prey to the evils of New York, prey I may even encounter on my nightly patrols as the apex predator.

For those of you who are able to resist the pressure and temptation, though, I congratulate you. I admire your perseverance and good sense of judgment. It is far more than I will ever be able to say for myself.

I was born a child of the shadows and was unable to live in the light, but I hope your upbringing was better than mine. Perhaps, someday, it will be_ you_ who delivers justice to this city in such dire need of it. If that day ever comes, maybe you will have your own reasons as to why you fight for the citizens of the concrete jungle known as New York City.

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**So, what do you think? Love it? Hate it? Tell me in your reviews! As always, thank you for reading and your support. Like Rorschach, I now disappear into the night…**


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